Never Say Never
by HockeyGirl35
Summary: Insight into what Miles, Bass, and sometimes Charlie were thinking during the guys' scenes together...I suck at summaries...the story is better, I think.
1. One Riot, One Ranger

Author's Note: I did not change hardly anything from the episode. This is actually less of a fictional story and more of an insight into what Miles, Bass, and sometimes Charlie might have been thinking during all the scenes the guys had with each other during One Riot, One Ranger. Even though it's not a completely new story, I hope you enjoy it! =)

Miles followed Charlie out of the town and along the stream that ran along the train tracks. He'd given up questioning their destination and instead decided to try and breach the sore topic of Rachel, "You know, she really missed you, Charlie." The girl didn't even glance back at him. She kept up the steady pace and the resolute silence so Miles continued, "I'm just saying, when you see her again go easy on her. Okay?"

Charlie finally answered but her tone was sharp and sarcastic, "Yeah. I'll try to play nice. Promise." With her back still to Miles, she didn't let him see the frown on her face. She didn't know exactly why but she knew she didn't like Miles defending Rachel to her. They had almost reached the spot where she left Bass so she glanced back at her uncle, making her tone light as she told him, "Okay, so now you need to promise me to not...you know...explode or go crazy." Honestly, she didn't know what to expect. On one hand, Miles had once tried to kill Monroe. On the other, she'd seen him broken up by the prospect when they walked to Philly.

Miles raised an eyebrow, still following her, "Wait, huh?" He followed her around the outcropping of rocks and up the embankment as he shook his head with a smile, "No. That's never a good-" he broke off when he saw Bass standing a little ways away.

Miles abruptly stopped in his tracks and Bass, holding his shotgun in one hand, raised the other in a calming motion, hoping the man wouldn't completely freak out. "Miles," he greeted wearily. He stayed where he was, waiting to see Miles' reaction.

Miles stared at him blankly for a few seconds before turning his head to look at Charlie, frowning in bewilderment as he tried to piece together what in the hell was going on.

Charlie opened her mouth to say something but then closed it again, looking at her uncle apologetically as she gave a small shrug.

Some sort of understanding appeared on Miles face but as he stalked towards him, Bass knew Miles had drawn the wrong conclusion.

Miles got in Bass's face as he snapped, "What did you do to her?"

Bass didn't want another fight and tried to convey that through his body language, backing up a step and holding his free arm out as he tried to calm Miles down. "Whoa, nothing," he said softly, looking Miles right in the eye.

It didn't seem to work. "I know you, you son of a bitch. What'd you do to her?" Miles asked him again, tone rising.

That one hurt but Bass ignored it, not breaking eye contact with Miles as he replied, voice still calm but with a hint of desperation, "I didn't touch her."

Charlie chose that moment to break in. "Hey, hey! I wouldn't let him touch me," she told Miles.

Bass could see that Miles was listening to Charlie so he added, "I saved her life."

Miles looked at Bass again, studying his face as he tried to decide if that was a lie. Bass let him, refusing to look away as he silently willed Miles to just trust him again.

Finally, Miles glanced down and it finally occurred to him what all this meant. He turned to look at Charlie disbelievingly, "You brought him here." Since it was a statement instead of a question, Charlie didn't answer and Miles returned his gaze to Bass, wavering between laughing at this ridiculous situation and punching him in the face. "Okay," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, "Charlie, let's go." He turned away and started walking. Charlie tried to interrupt but he cut her off with a stern, "Now." It was Bass's voice that made him turn around.

"Hey, I just walked halfway down the map to help you!" Bass couldn't completely keep the waver out of his voice but he couldn't just let Miles walk away, not after everything he'd just gone through to find him again.

"Sorry?" Miles asked, challenging him.

Bass risked a few slow steps closer, "That's right. With these U.S. guys..."He gestured to Miles' bandaged hand, "By the looks of it, you're gonna need it."

Miles walked up to him again, stopping when he was directly in front of Bass. "Oh," he started sarcastically, sizing him up, "You're here to help me."

Bass just looked at him, not really sure what Miles was getting at and figuring he wasn't going to like it anyway.

The look on Miles' face changed and for the first time Bass could clearly see the pain in his eyes. "I don't want your help, Bass!" Miles told him with a shake of his head, stumbling over his former best friend's nickname, "I should kill you!" Bass immediately picked up on the lack of conviction in that last sentence, as did Charlie and Miles himself.

"That's right," Bass answered him, bitterness seeping into his tone, "But you're never quite able to pull the trigger yourself...right?" He searched Miles' eyes for some sort of agreement and was slightly heartened when Miles didn't look away or disagree. "Come on, Miles," Bass urged him quietly. Still no response so Bass decided to switch tactics, try something they did to each other frequently when they were younger: Goad him into action. "Look at yourself, you handicapable schmuck. You can't do this alone. You need me," Bass told him, voice defiant. He saw the small smirk on Charlie's face out of the corner of his eye but didn't look away from Miles.

Bass honestly thought his somewhat immature plan would work when he saw Miles obviously struggling to control his temper.

Instead, Miles just grit his teeth and answered, "You wanna help me?" He closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them again, his expression was carefully blank, "Then go away." Once again, he turned around and started walking.

Bass glanced at Charlie but she just looked back at him, waiting for him to do something. Well, Bass figured, he'd just be honest. Not like he had anything left to lose. "They nuked our city, Miles!" he shouted in frustration. Miles stopped walking, listening so Bass continued, "They burned it. They're trying to pin it on me. I want payback." Miles still wouldn't face him and while it irritated the shit out of Bass, he went on, "Best way to get it is you and me...together..." He cursed himself for suddenly sounding so uncertain. Making his voice firm, he finished, "You know it."

Miles finally turned around, looking at Bass with a guarded expression as Bass said, "I'm asking...I'm asking for a truce."

The silence stretched far too long before Miles sighed. "A truce," he agreed, "For now."

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

The three moved closer to the railroad support, keeping them a bit more hidden as Miles filled Charlie and Bass in on what's been going on with the Patriots and Willoughby.

"If they're after my mom, why don't we just grab her and go? Charlie asked.

"Where?" Miles answered, fidgeting with the bandage on his hand, "Those plastic sons of bitches are everywhere." He glanced up and caught Bass's eye, shaking his head and looking down again as he stated, "This is as good a place as any to make a stand."

Charlie put her hands on her hips, "Miles, you're talking about starting a war."

Before Miles could reply, Bass jumped in. "Damn straight. That's smart," he said, sounding a little eager, "We get the Texans to fight the Patriots for us." Feeling a little like they were back in the old days and noticing that Miles was looking at him, Bass said, "You know, it's kinda like that thing in Ann Arbor!"

Charlie looked at him and then Miles with interest, "What happened in Ann Arbor?"

"Drop it," Miles said quickly, the barest hint of a smirk on his face.

Charlie looked over at Bass who just looked confused. Another quick glance between the two men and she could tell they were in the middle of some silent conversation. She looked at her uncle and was surprised to see a bit of...amusement? In his brown eyes as he looked at Bass.

Bass knew that look Miles was giving him; it was the one that said Bass should shut his mouth _now_, "Okay," he replied just as fast, "Sorry."

Miles looked forward again. Although he knew he shouldn't be, he was both slightly impressed and amused at how well they could still communicate without saying a word. "John Fry is leaving first thing," he said, changing the subject, "I'm supposed to have proof for him by tonight." He didn't mean to allow the hopelessness into his tone but if he were honest, it wasn't looking good.

Bass surprised both Charlie and Miles when he interjected, "Don't worry. We'll get you some proof."

~~MM~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Miles took Charlie and Bass to the train yard where he'd watched the tribe members get executed. Unfortunately, there was nothing there. Not a trace that any of the yard had been anything but abandoned for years. Charlie was scouting around the perimeter while Miles and Bass checked the boxcar.

"Well, it was filled with prisoners yesterday," Miles said, looking around. He jumped out of the car and onto the ground.

"Well, you knew they were gonna scrub the scene. What'd you expect?" Bass asked, looking around cautiously.

"I dunno," Miles answered, also scanning the area, "A lead. A thread. Anything but jack squat."

Seemingly satisfied that the area was still clear, Bass turned to face Miles, "Buck up, pal. We'll get Fry his proof." He'd meant that to sound reassuring but Miles narrowed his gaze at him.

"What is that?" he asked suspiciously.

Bass honestly didn't know what he was talking about, "What?"

Miles walked closer as he explained in a sarcastic tone, "You're practically skipping. You having fun?"

Bass resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that wouldn't help anything. Instead, he let out a small laugh that was anything but humorous and stepped up to face Miles, "Wait, what do you think? That I want to be here? With you?" The look on Miles' face told Bass that's exactly what he thought. "Don't flatter yourself," Bass remarked.

Miles glanced down, "Okay," he said quietly, getting in Bass's face, "Let's be clear. Maybe you are...useful. But this is not Butch and Sundance." Bass didn't reply, just looked at him, keeping his expression neutral so Miles continued, "You are nothing but a dark pit that I spent too many years trying to crawl out of. Last thing I'm gonna let you do is pull me back in." Miles didn't know the exact reason why, but every time Bass acted like his old self, Miles wanted to hurt him. Since he wouldn't do any physical harm, he tried to make his remarks as scathing as possible. Maybe it was the fact that Bass _was _being his old self and Miles didn't know how to handle that. It just made him miss what they'd had even more. It was easier for him when they were constantly fighting, when Bass was just General Monroe, the bad guy. Miles had gone to great lengths to make himself accept the fact that his best friend was gone. He'd finally gotten to the point where he didn't feel the pain of abandoning his brother every day when he shows up in Miles' life again, acting like going back to the way it was is a simple matter.

Bass again felt the pain from Miles' words but, just as he had with Charlie, he ignored it, responding with a simple, "Uh-huh." He didn't completely believe Miles, though. If Miles had said half this stuff before everything happened at the Tower, it would have crushed Bass. But he couldn't forget Miles' words to him as he'd helped him escape. Whether Miles wanted to acknowledge it now or not, he'd admitted they _were _still brothers and Bass was going to do his best to get Miles to see that he just wanted to help them. At least try and make it up to him.

The tense silence was broken by Charlie walking up to them, "It's not much but I found some wagon treads." She frowned as she observed the two men. She could tell she'd interrupted something but didn't know what.

Miles and Bass looked at each other again and Miles replied, "Well, it's better than nothing. Let's see where they lead." He turned and started walking to where Charlie had been.

Bass watched him go, suppressing an irritated sigh. He noticed Charlie casting a curious look his way and gave her a small smile, gesturing for her to follow Miles. With one last look around the train yard, he walked after them.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

The small group had been walking throughout the afternoon and into the night. Darkness had fallen long ago and they still hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary. They were just walking into what appeared to be ruins of another small town when Bass finally broke the silence, "Well, I hate to break it to you, pal, but this trail is going nowhere."

Miles just looked away and kept walking. This time Bass did roll his eyes but allowed the silence to fall over them again. A barely audible sound to their front captured his attention. He tensed and brought up his shotgun a moment before the shots came raining in around him.

Miles and Charlie ducked, running for cover behind a decrepit brick wall. Being the only one with a gun, Bass stayed in the open, taking a couple steps forward and covering them the best he could without getting shot himself. He fired off a round from his shotgun but at that distance it didn't do much to deter the Patriots. Moving quickly, he threw himself around the wall, sliding down beside Charlie with Miles on the other side. Not taking his eyes off his targets, Bass couldn't help remarking sarcastically, "Well, I guess it is Butch and Sundance."

"Shut up," Miles replied distractedly, "How many you think? Seven? Eight?" He did have enough time to recall the last time Bass and he were in a position like this; Bass had joked that because of low ammo, they'd have to switch to swords. He remembered Bass's laugh as he'd said they'd be just like pirates. The irony that his sword was now his main weapon was not lost on Miles.

With a quick look around the wall, Bass nodded, "Yeah."

"What do we do?" asked Charlie, loading an arrow into her crossbow.

Bass hesitated. "You remember South Bend?" he asked Miles.

Miles thought for a second, then nodded, "Yeah, that'll work."

Charlie shook her head. "What-you guys are just saying cities!" she snapped in annoyance.

Bass sent Miles a quick look of concern, "You sure you're up for this?" He was thinking about Miles' hand but Miles just glared at him.

"Just worry about yourself," he answered, getting his sword out.

"Heads up," Bass said to Charlie, tossing her the shotgun, "Cover us." He crouched beside the corner of the building, getting ready for the sprint to the closest shooter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miles doing the same thing on the other side. "Now!" he ordered, breaking into a run but staying low.

Charlie let out a frustrated yelp as Miles and Bass took off but covered them with the shotgun as best she could while staying behind cover.

Working from opposite sides, Miles and Bass took out the first two guys quietly with swords, picking up their assault rifles as they moved to the next Patriots. They worked their way through the line in a sort of leapfrog pattern. Every time one would get stuck, the other would be at an angle to take out the Patriot pinning them down. They moved quickly, criss-crossing each others' paths in order to keep the Patriots confused.

Miles caught the last Patriot trying to sneak away, punching him in the face and knocking him out cold. He grabbed one of the guy's arms, pulling him up. No small task since the guy, while slightly shorter than Miles, easily outweighed him.

Bass came darting around the corner, assault rifle ready but lowered the barrel as he saw Miles.

Miles glanced at him, "Help me get him up."

"What're you doin'?" Bass asked in confusion.

"He worked for Titus," Miles explained, "Works for the Patriots. We get him to talk, he's our proof." He nodded at the unconscious man impatiently, waiting for Bass to grab his other arm before he tried to move the guy again.

"Alright," Bass answered, sounding satisfied as he let the rifle hang by the shoulder strap and moved under the guy's arm, "Guess it all worked out."

~~MM~MM~~MM~~MM~~

They dragged the man to an old sawmill outside of town, chaining him to a chair in one of the small rooms and putting a gag in his mouth. He'd woken up by this time, glaring at Charlie who had volunteered first watch. Bass circled the man, making sure there was absolutely no way he could escape. Before he got to the door, he stopped and looked at Charlie, slightly concerned about leaving her with this man. He sent her a look silently asking if she would be okay in here by herself.

Charlie gave him a small nod and with one more glare at their prisoner, Bass walked out into the short hall leading into the main room. He stopped right before entering, seeing Miles already facing him. Bass leaned against the doorway and gave a quiet laugh.

Miles looked at him, annoyed, "What?"

Bass smirked, waving his hand through the air for emphasis as he replied, "Well, you gotta admit, back there that was..." he pushed himself away from the doorway, walking past Miles as he continued, "That was kinda fun...right?"

Miles didn't turn to face him completely, instead just turning his head as he tried to figure out how to respond because, yeah, he had kinda enjoyed that but he'd also told Bass he didn't want him around anymore. While Bass was having no trouble adjusting to their odd situation, Miles found it all confusing as hell. The door creaking open saved Miles from having to answer. Him and Bass looked over, not expecting Fry just yet.

Unfortunately, Rachel walked in, Aaron right behind her. She took in everything with a single glance, "What the hell is going on?"

Bass was taken aback, he hadn't expected to see her for awhile...well, he'd been hoping to avoid her altogether but at least not face off this soon. "Rachel...?" he said.

Miles could see the change in her immediately. "Oh, God," he muttered, almost to himself. He took a couple steps forward, placing himself in front of Bass as he tried to keep things from getting worse, "Alright, listen-" It didn't work. Rachel grabbed one of the assault rifles, pointing it at Miles' chest but aiming for Bass. "Hold on, hold on! Rachel, hold on!" Miles shouted, holding his hand out to stop her.

In a cold voice, Rachel answered, "Get out of my way, Miles."

Miles licked his lips, trying to think of a way to stall her, "We don't have time for this."

Rachel tightened her grip on the rifle, "Get out of my way."

"Fry's gonna be here any minute!" Miles told her, tone rising, "I'm supposed to be alone!"

"Why are you protecting him?" Rachel shouted at him.

Before Miles could reply, Charlie walked into the room, "Because he's helping us."

"Charlie," Rachel whispered, flicking her gaze from Bass to her daughter.

Charlie stopped beside Miles, "And because I brought him."

Miles, still watching Rachel closely, saw the expression on her face and knew this wasn't going to be good, "Perfect...thank you, Charlie. That's very helpful."

"You brought him here," Rachel echoed Miles' earlier statement, "And why would you do that?" Also like Miles, she figured that since Charlie hated Monroe, he must have forced her into this.

Miles figured it was time to step in. Slowly closing in on Rachel and the rifle, he said softly, "Look...You can shoot each other later." With that, he lunged forward, disarming her and taking the rifle himself. "Right now just...get out of sight!" Miles looked over his shoulder, "Bass..." he said, tossing him the rifle, "Over there." He gestured to a small closet area in the corner. "You three," he said to Charlie, Rachel, and Aaron, "Upstairs." No movement. Only Bass, who had learned early on in their military careers that it was a bad idea to screw with Miles when he gave an order, turned and walked away to his designated position. Miles clenched his teeth at the others, "I'm beggin' ya, just get upstairs! Please!"

Finally, the other three walked upstairs. Aaron stopped in front of Miles and Miles tried to ignore him, hoping he would just go away.

"So..." Aaron started, "Monroe...that's quite a twist-"

"Just get upstairs!" Miles snapped at him, all patience gone. Not a moment too soon because John Fry walked in less than two minutes later.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Miles was exhausted. He kept telling himself that everything was about to get a whole lot easier once the Texans were on board but of course those plans were shot to hell when they walked in to find the prisoner dead. A cyanide tooth. The guy had a damn cyanide tooth. "Who the hell are these guys?" Miles asked, throwing the tooth down.

Fry just watched him as he asked, "So this was your proof?"

"Well, trust me, John," Miles replied, "If he could talk, you'd be blown away."

Fry frowned at him, "Well, I don't know what you want me to do, Miles. Now, I can go back to Carver and tell him I don't like these Patriots but he's just gonna go ahead and sign the treaty anyway. He's not gonna start a war."

Miles looked away, mind racing as he tried to figure out some way to get the Texans on their side.

Fry was still talking, "So unless you can come up with something-"

A shotgun blast cut him off and Miles jerked back, watching as Fry's body hit the ground, lifeless. He looked up to see Bass there, calm as ever. Miles clenched his teeth and rushed him, shoving him back into the wall as he shouted in his face, "What are you thinking?! What is wrong with you?! What is that?!" He was as close to hysterical as Miles Matheson ever got and Bass just looked at him in confusion.

"All we gotta do now is frame the Patriots for this," Bass explained, slightly surprised that Miles hadn't caught on to that already, "And you'll have your war. Texas is gonna go nuts." He lowered his weapon, looking over as Charlie ran into the room followed closely by Rachel and Aaron. He looked back at Miles. "That is what you wanted!...isn't it?" he finished uncertainly, suddenly losing his confidence when he saw the look on Miles' face.

Walking past Miles, Bass looked down at the dead Ranger and then glanced at Charlie. The look she sent his way made him want to groan. It wasn't anger or disbelief like the others, it was different. It told him that while she understood that he thought what he did was right, he'd made the wrong choice. He didn't understand. If this were back in the old days of the Republic, Miles himself would've been the one coming up with this exact plan-...and that's when Bass realized what was wrong. He was still doing things the way the Militia did them, which usually meant using manipulation and cruelness to accomplish the mission. He winced, glancing at Miles again. Yep, he still looked furious. Bass sighed; this was not as easy for him as Miles thought. It wasn't like he could just change from the Milita's ways overnight. Well. Back to square one.


	2. Dead Man Walking

Author's Note: Since the last chapter went over pretty well, I did another for the last episode: Dead Man Walking. Hope you enjoy! =)

~~MM~~MM~MM~~MM~~

It took Miles about 15 minutes after the shooting of Fry to snap back into action. He sent Aaron, Rachel, and Charlie back to Willoughby while he and Bass grabbed some old buckets from the mill and filled them with water. Next came cleaning up the "crime-scene." With the water and some rags, they scrubbed at the blood puddles until they were nothing but brownish-red stains in the wood. Nothing they could do about that so they scattered leaves and dirt over them, trying to cover them completely and at least making it look as if the stains had been there awhile. Then Miles strategically placed some blood droplets on the floor where the Rangers would surely see them but they weren't too obvious.

Bass dropped a shell casing he'd saved from using the Patriots' rifles a short distance from the blood drops. He caught Miles' eye and with one last sweep of the room to make sure everything was perfect, they moved to the body. Here was the part neither was looking forward to. They carried the body down to the river and tied it firmly to the cinder block they had waiting. Miles grasped Fry's arms while Bass took his legs and the cinder block. Slowly, they walked the body into the water and at about waist depth, they dropped him.

Miles released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, looking over at Bass silently.

Bass met his gaze head on, giving him an almost challenging look before his eyes softened and he glanced down, taking the lead and moving to their hiding spot behind the bushes across the river.

It didn't take long for the Rangers to find the mill and apparently piece together the evidence that was left for them. Miles watched through the binoculars as they rode off from the river. Regardless of how the plan had been put into action, he was glad it was over. Bass's voice sounded from beside him.

"Told you it would work," Bass said, turning his head to study Miles, "You wanted a war. You got one." He was hoping for a reply but Miles stayed silent just as he had been since Bass had shot Fry. Bass didn't push him. He knew Miles would have to work this out in his own head before he could deal with Bass. They walked down the bank and across the river again but Bass spoke up before they split, "You know that old junk yard about a half-mile west of the gates?" At Miles' answering nod, he continued, "There's a small shed at the back of the property. That's where I'll be."

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Bass didn't see Miles the next day so on the third day, he went out scouting, tracking some Patriots on a patrol on the outskirts of Willoughby. By a stroke of luck, one man decided he would branch off by himself so as soon as he lost sight of his compatriots, Bass jumped him. It was a short battle and Bass forced him, bound and gagged, back to his shed where they had a nice discussion about the Patriot occupation in the area. After Bass was absolutely sure the man would be of no more use, he quickly killed him, dragging his body out the door. Miles' voice stopped him.

"Ah, come on!" The exasperation in Miles' tone was evident, "You gotta be kidding me."

Bass dropped the body and turned to face Miles, "He was out on patrol, just wanted to sit him down for a little chat, okay? No one saw me." He was just as exasperated as Miles because, despite Miles' agreement that Bass would be helpful in the fight against the Patriots, Miles refused to let him do what needed to be done. The only thing keeping him from snapping at Miles was that he was slightly heartened that Miles was speaking to him again.

"Are you stupid?" Miles asked him, erasing Bass's thought that having Miles speaking to him was a good thing.

Bass rubbed a hand across his face as Miles continued, "The plan was to lay low, wait for Texas to start killing Patriots. Not you." Miles paused before asking, "By the way...where's Texas?"

"Relax, alright? They're on their way. It worked," Bass replied, reaching into the pocket of his jacket, "Until then, here you go." He held a folded piece of paper toward Miles.

Miles grabbed it but made no attempt to unfold it or read it, "What is this?"

Bass stopped himself from rolling his eyes or voicing the sarcastic reply he was thinking; instead telling him, "That's base coordinates, personnel rosters, target cities. This guy sang like a bird."

Miles scanned the paper before glancing up, not quite meeting Bass's eyes, "This is pretty good."

Bass was completely surprised by the small compliment, "Yeah? There ya go, huh?" He smirked, trying and failing to get Miles to make eye contact. He decided to push his luck, "How about a thank you?"

Miles did look at him then, brown eyes completely unamused, letting Bass know plain and simple he wasn't getting anything else from him.

"No? Alright," Bass nodded, turning back to the body at his feet, "I dug a hole around back, grab his legs." He caught sight of Miles' cast and couldn't help himself, "That's if you can, stumpy." Old habits die hard. He kept a concerned eye on Miles as he used his injured hand to grasp one of the man's legs. "You know, I was thinking," Bass told him, "I really hate the son of a bitch but you know who'd be handy against these guys?" He didn't give Miles a chance to answer, not that Miles would have, "Tom Neville."

Miles didn't even attempt a reply but it was something to consider.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Miles arrived back at his house to find Rachel standing with her back to the door, waiting for him. He almost groaned. He did not feel like dealing with her right now.

Rachel wasn't about to let him off easy though, "How's your friend? He hanging in there?" Her tone was sweet and Miles rolled his eyes.

"Hey, come on in. Make yourself at home," Miles answered her sarcastically, walking closer.

Rachel still wouldn't face him as she said in that same tone, "He need anything? Hot lunch? Cold beer?" She rubbed her hand, using it as an excuse to avoid eye contact with Miles.

Miles dropped his head and tried to keep his temper reined in. He hated this passive-aggressive shit Rachel pulled. "What do you want me to do?" He asked her, tone low.

She spun around to face him, eyes flashing, "Something. Anything. There is a monster in our backyard and you're not doing a damn thing about it!" She let out a wavering laugh, "Oh, actually you're bringing him lunch." She stopped talking, glaring at Miles angrily.

Miles pulled the piece of paper he'd gotten from Bass out of his pocket, showing it to Rachel as he remarked, "He got more intel off one of their guys in two hours than we've been able to get in days." He hoped Rachel would get what he was trying to say without actually making him say it.

Rachel stepped towards him until they were face-to-face, "Am I supposed to be impressed that he can torture people?"

Miles clenched his teeth. For supposedly being so intelligent, sometimes Rachel could be a complete idiot. "The Patriots are smart!" he snapped at her, "They're vicious! They got you on a wanted poster, God knows why. This is what we need!" He paused to see if it was sinking in. He couldn't tell so he elaborated, "We need somebody who is willing to do this. 'Cause if he doesn't do it, I'm gonna have to." He looked at her, trying to convey to her what that meant. Surely she didn't want him to go back to being what he used to be. Hell, he didn't want to go back to being General Matheson.

"I think you're full of crap," Rachel told him, walking by and out of the house, slamming the door as she went.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Bass was sitting in his shed, a small fire crackling in front of him as he roasted the piece of meat Miles had brought him. Absently, he poked the meat with his knife as it cooked, his thoughts a million miles away. A loud crash jolted him from his thoughts and his eyes tracked a small canister as it flew through his window and hit the floor. Knowing exactly what it was, he threw himself from his chair and into the corner, shielding his head from the debris of the explosion. Knife still in hand, he stumbled towards the door, disoriented and ears ringing. He felt absolute fury flood through him and he kicked the door open, teeth clenched and knife ready. He was met by a group of Patriots intermingled with Rangers. All had their rifles pointed at him in a semi-circle. He still clutched his knife as he shifted around, going through all the options in his head and daring them to try and get close. Two young Patriots rushed him from behind but Bass was ready, head butting them and putting them on the ground within seconds. A Ranger tackled him into the dirt while two Patriots slapped handcuffs on him, ignoring his struggles.

"Haul him up!" A voice commanded and Bass was forced to his feet. He was still fighting the three men holding him as he looked at the stranger. Snake. That was the first thought that entered Bass's mind as he studied the apparent leader of this band of Patriots.

"On behalf of the United States Government and the sovereign nation of Texas; Sebastian Monroe, you are under arrest," the stranger told him smugly, walking up so he was only about a foot from Bass.

Bass didn't give him a reaction, just glared at him, sparks of anger in his eyes as he sized him up. The guy was lucky he had all his guard dogs with him. Otherwise it wouldn't have been a match at all.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

The tolling of the town bell brought everyone out to line the streets as the Patriots and Rangers brought their wagons through. Charlie, Aaron, Miles, and Rachel were scattered throughout the crowd, trying to get a look at what was causing the excitement.

Rachel, standing beside Miles, saw the commander of the Patriots riding with the Texas President, "There's Texas and the Patriots. Together. Not killing each other."

Miles gave her a stern look but then shook his head, "I...I got nothin'." His eyes widened when he caught sight of the rebar cage being drawn on the last wagon. He would recognize that figure anywhere. Bass.

As if feeling his gaze, Bass looked over, catching Miles' eye. His own eyes looked dull, the twinkle that had been there this morning had vanished.

Miles watched helplessly as they went by, him and Rachel quickly following them to the town square where they were met by Charlie and Aaron. The Texas president was speaking, solidifying the alliance between Texas and the Patriots and ending his speech with, "And working with our friends with the new United States Government, we arrested the continent's most wanted man; Sebastian Monroe." Miles felt dread pooling in his stomach as the cheers erupted around him and the president began talking again, "Justice demands the immediate trial for his numerous crimes. And if found guilty, by the power of Texas law, he won't live to see another sunrise." Miles couldn't react. He felt frozen. Of course they were going to find Bass guilty. There were no two ways about that. He couldn't force himself to look around at the people cheering and so missed the twisted smile that appeared on Rachel's face.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Bass was sitting in his cell, massaging his wrists where the handcuffs were biting into his skin. He actually welcomed the pain though; his mind kept wandering to past times. Bad times. He was hoping the pain would distract him but it just wasn't doing the trick. Was this what people meant when they said life flashes before your eyes as you prepare for death? You relive everything? Go over every small detail? Considering that the majority of his life had been filled with darkness, Bass really hoped that wasn't the case. There really wasn't much he wanted to relive. Besides, he remembered hearing at church, when he was a child, that you saw a review of your life at your Judgment Seat after you die. Was he really so cursed that he was forced to go through this torture twice? His cell door swinging open saved him from attempting to answer that question.

"Monroe. On your feet," A young Ranger stood there, waiting for him to comply. Bass thought fleetingly about fighting but instead let his shoulders sag and stood up. He had been fighting for so long, he thought he might be losing the will to keep at it.

Miles and Charlie darted along the roof of the jail, an escape plan fresh in their minds. They both glanced over the edge of the building and deflated at the sight below. There was Bass, cuffed, in the middle of a group of rangers with rifles trained on him and the surrounding area. "They're moving him," Miles stated, disbelief in his voice, "To the bank." They ducked down again, leaning against the wall that ran along the edge of the roof.

"Why the bank?" Charlie asked him, confused by the location change.

"Because it's got a damn vault," Miles replied, letting his head fall back against the wall with a soft thud.

Charlie frowned, "Well, how are we gonna get him out?"

Miles looked at her earnestly, "We're not. Only one way in and out and they'll guard that with every guy they got." He sighed, shaking his head, "Jail break's one thing Charlie, but...bank job? No. No way." He closed his eyes and leaned back again, trying to calm his nerves.

"It doesn't make any sense," Charlie whispered to him, "Why would they move him all of a sudden?"

As soon as she said those words, something clicked in Miles' mind.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Miles stormed into Rachel's house, Charlie on his heels. "Rachel, did you do it?" he asked her sharply.

Rachel played dumb, "Did I do what?"

Miles set his jaw, "Oh, you know. Tip them off. To a jail break."

Rachel turned so she was facing Miles, ignoring Charlie standing to the side, "Damn right I did."

Miles stared at her. He couldn't believe she was so calm and uncaring about this. "Did you narc him out in the first place?" he asked, tone rising.

Rachel denied that, "No, I didn't. But now that they have him, he's not getting away."

Miles shook his head in disbelief, "Well. That's it. I don't know how to save this town. From the Patriots or anybody else, so when you figure it out, you let me know." He turned and walked out, fists clenched to keep from punching something. Did Rachel honestly think she could sell Bass out and Miles would still be working to start a resistance? She had to know how difficult all this had been for him. She knew how close Miles had been to Bass. Was she really that stupid?

Charlie was still standing against the counter, silent, as her mom began talking.

"If they had caught you, they would have put a bullet in your head. I am not losing another child to that man," Rachel told her firmly.

Charlie crossed her arms, "If you really cared about me then you would've asked me just once how I've been this whole time."

Rachel swallowed but Charlie didn't give her a chance to speak. "For one thing," she went on, "I almost died. You know who saved me? Monroe." Rachel rolled her eyes and Charlie remarked, "But you don't want to hear that, do you? That's the thing. You don't listen. Never have. Because you're smarter than everybody else. And you're always right..." she paused, looking straight into Rachel's eyes as she finished, "Even when you're dead wrong." She left her mom in the kitchen and followed Miles out of the house.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~MM~~

Bass stood before the judge in the courthouse listening as his fate was coldly dealt out, "By the power vested in me by the sovereign nation of Texas, I hereby sentence you to die by lethal injection to be administered by midnight." As the judge's voice faded, Bass cast his eyes to the ground, refusing to give any satisfaction to the Patriots gathered around him.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

The memories were back. Worse than they were before. Bass sat on the cold, hard ground of the vault as he went through the flashbacks. He'd stopped trying to fight them; what was the point? Footsteps from outside the vault captured his attention and he looked towards the open door, not bothering to erase the evidence of tears from his eyes.

Miles stopped when he saw Bass. He'd never seen his friend look as helpless a he did at that instant, huddled against the wall where he was chained, piercing blue eyes dull.

Bass climbed to his feet as Miles walked into the cell with him. He wanted to speak but his mind went blank. Finally, "Isn't Texas adorable?"

Miles glanced down. He had been trying so hard to stay objective but every time Bass made a joke, Miles was reminded that this wasn't just some guy they were executing, this was his _best friend _for God's sake.

A small frown creased Bass's face but he continued, "Lethal injection. They should just put a bullet in my head, save the drama."

Miles tried to smile, tried to think of someway to reassure Bass...but he couldn't. His mind felt sluggish. Like he was in a dream. So instead, he kept his gaze on the ground and just listened. But as the silence encompassed them, he forced himself to speak. Unfortunately, he still couldn't look Bass in the eye and his words were far from comforting, "What am I doing here?"

The hurt flashed across Bass's face before he managed to conceal it, "Well, these bumpkins gave me one last request and I, uh..." he broke off, taking a moment to erase the waver from his voice, "I asked for you."

Miles tilted his head, finally looking Bass in the eye as he replied, "And why exactly would you want to see local nobody, Stu Redman?" Miles glanced back at the guards before looking to Bass again. Stupid thing to say, Miles thought to himself as he noticed the stony expression on Bass's face. This really wasn't the time to worry about his cover identity. There probably wasn't a point, anyway.

As if reading his thoughts and confirming them, Bass let out a small laugh that ended up sounding more like a sigh, "Do you really think that if these Patriots know who I am, they don't know who you are?"

Miles dropped his head and breathed in deeply, trying to keep his composure as he met Bass's gaze, "What do you want, Bass?"

Bass felt the tears fill his eyes again as he looked at Miles. Did he really think Bass wanted something from him? Now? Well, in a way...Miles was right. Bass knew he was going to die. Before he went, he wanted...he _needed _his brother's forgiveness. He loved Miles. For all of Charlie's comments about him being cold and empty, he still loved his brother more than anything in this world. All he wanted was some small sign that, somehow, Miles still loved him, too. He didn't try to keep his voice firm this time, "Everyone else wants me to go to hell, you-...not you...?" He could see the neutral mask slip from Miles' face as he went on, "At the end of the day, that's exactly what this is. We were friends..." He carefully watched Miles, looking for anything that might confirm his statement.

Miles glanced away from him, trying desperately to avoid showing any emotion. He could still fix this. There had to be something he could do. He just needed time. Just a little more time and he'd...he'd figure a way...

Despite Miles' protests, Bass did in fact know him very well and right now, he could see what was going through Miles' mind. Bass knew any escape would be hopeless but just knowing that Miles cared, that he might miss him when he was gone gave him the spark of courage he needed to accept his death. Now...it was time to help Miles accept it as well. "Shake my hand," Bass said, softly but steadily, "Say goodbye."

After a moment's hesitation, Miles held his injured hand out and Bass carefully grasped it, squeezing gently but making sure not to hurt him. They stood there like that, tears in their eyes belying how hard this was for both of them.

Bass found his voice first, choked up as he asked, "We had some good times, didn't we?" That's not what he was going to say but for some reason, he couldn't force his other statement out.

For the first time, it occurred to Miles that this was it. This was the end. No more chances to reconcile. Time's up. Realizing he was on the verge of hyperventilating, he forced himself to breathe regularly but only succeeded with choppy breaths. "Yeah. Yeah, we did," he answered, looking into Bass's blue eyes and seeing the understanding as his friend nodded. Miles was sure his own eyes were showing the desperation and pain he was feeling and he cursed himself for not being able to give Bass the comfort he needed. He couldn't handle this. He had to leave. Jerking his hand from Bass's, Miles turned and started to walk out of the vault.

Bass let him pull away. He could plainly see how hard this was for Miles. But there was something he still had to say, "I-..I have a kid." He saw Miles stop so he clarified, "I'm not talking about...about Shelley and the baby. I'm..." here was the most difficult part. After all, Emma had been Miles' fiancee at the time, "I'm talking about me and Emma..." Miles turned to face him and Bass could see the surprise clearly showing on his face. He still hadn't spoken though, so Bass ended with, "I'm sorry."

Miles couldn't believe this. How did Bass find out? He was never supposed to find out. Miles had had every intention of telling his friend but then everything happened and...the boy was an adult by now anyway, so...Miles stepped back to the doorway of the vault, not sure how to go about this. If he told Bass...it might just make things worse because Bass would never get the chance to find his son anyway...

Bass mistook Miles' behavior as anger and slumped against the wall, figuring he had nothing to lose by clearing everything up now, "It was while you and Emma were still..." he trailed off, trying to convey to Miles how guilty he still felt about that whole affair, "But it happened." Now for the request which, despite it all, he still trusted that Miles would honor, "I have a son out there...I've never met him...so, um..." he broke off, a tear running down his face as he tried to regain his composure, "I, uh, I want you to find him...and I want you to take care of him."

As he heard how broken up his friend sounded, Miles made up his mind. The only reason to keep this secret would be for his own benefit because there was no way in hell Bass would ever forgive him. But then...what did that really matter anymore? He nodded his head, "Don't worry. Your son is fine."

Bass stared at him, not sure he heard correctly, "I'm...I'm sorry?" Out of everything he thought Miles would say, that wasn't on the list.

Miles shook his head, "Yeah, I knew about him. Emma got word to me..." He paused. He didn't want this to come back on Emma because really...it wasn't her fault. "And I hid him from you."

Bass couldn't believe this. He could not comprehend what Miles was telling him, "...You what?"

Miles nodded, meeting Bass's gaze, "You were off the rails, Bass."

Bass glanced away, feeling like he was about to throw up, "Uh...you knew...how I felt..." He looked back at Miles, eyes still disbelieving but also slightly accusatory, "I had a kid that died...and you hid the one that lived from me?"

Miles forced himself to stay composed, "Nobody was safe around you, so I..." he stopped at the pain on Bass's face.

Bass just looked at him, eyes filled with disbelief and the same betrayal as the night Miles had tried to assassinate him, "How could you do that? Miles...what...why?" When Miles didn't answer, Bass dealt with this emotional turmoil the only way he knew how; he lashed out, throwing himself against the chains that anchored him to the wall, "You son of a bitch! How could you do that?!"

Miles couldn't bear to watch as the Rangers walked in to subdue their prisoner. He turned away and walked out of the vault, Bass's anguished voice following him out, "Get back here! How could you do that to me?!"

Miles shoved through the doors and stumbled outside, heaving for a few moments as he desperately tried to keep the bile in the back of his throat at bay. That entire time, Bass's only question was how could Miles do that to him? He never once told him to go to hell. Didn't tell him he hated him. Miles shook his head as he realized how misguided Bass's trust in him truly was. But now...now he would never have the chance to make it right. To be the brother that Bass always was to him. And Miles wasn't sure how he was going to make it through this time.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Bass walked slowly up the street to the courthouse where he would take his last breaths. He tried not to pay attention to the crowds on both sides or the fact that his death was going to cause a town-wide celebration. He didn't bother trying to drag his feet or fight back. He just wanted it to be over. One way or another. As a matter of fact, the only sign of life in his entire appearance was the flash of recognition in his eyes as he caught sight of Charlie. He stopped for a moment and gazed at her, eyes softening when he saw the bit of sadness that showed in her face. "Take care of your uncle, kid," he told her quietly before they gave him a sharp nudge to keep him moving.

Bass had had a couple of hours to think about what Miles told him. He couldn't deny that it hurt to know the person he trusted more than anything had kept something like that from him...but he could see why Miles did it. And in an odd sort of way, he was grateful. Miles had been protecting him and his son the only way he knew how. He knew that his death was going to be hard on his brother but he prayed that having Charlie back and Rachel around would help him move past it.

Bass's thoughts were cut short as he entered the court room. His gaze took in the chair with the leather straps sitting at the front and Rachel beside it, preparing a needle. Everyone looked up as he walked down the aisle but Bass caught Rachel's gaze and held it until the older gentleman to the side stepped directly in front of him.

"I'm Doctor Gene Porter," the man told him coldly, "Danny Matheson's grandfather. I've been asked to prepare you for execution and may I say...it's an honor."

Bass didn't even try to reply to that. As he'd told Miles, he knew everyone here hated him. But as they took the shackles off and prepared to move him to the chair, he gazed at Rachel again. She was the only familiar person in this room and even though Bass knew she hated him probably more than anyone, he wanted someone around that he knew as he succumbed to whatever chemicals they pumped into his blood stream.

It wasn't until they began strapping him to the chair that Bass finally felt the panic rush through him. On the verge of hyperventilating, he sucked oxygen into his lungs that did nothing to take away the suffocating feeling that had settled in his chest. Still looking at Rachel, he didn't even glance over as Doctor Porter took the needle and went around to his other side. Mustering up all the strength he had left, voice barely above a whisper and wavering with sincerity, he spoke two simple words just loud enough for Rachel to hear, "I'm sorry." Rachel's expression never changed and Bass finally looked away from her, gaze locking on the needle as he tracked it to its entry point. From there, all he felt was white-hot pain coursing throughout his veins, causing his body to spasm against the leather bindings. He took a few gasping breaths...and his chest stilled. His eyes were blank. He was gone. _I'm sorry..._

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Miles was sitting at the bar when he heard the bell tolling, announcing the death of his brother to the town. He held up a shot glass for a moment in silent acknowledgment before downing the liquid, focusing on the burn down his throat instead of the tears in his eyes.

About 45 minutes later, Miles was still attempting to drink himself away from this entire situation. The only difference was Aaron and Charlie had joined him in the bar. He felt a surge of gratefulness that Aaron was staying with Charlie and apparently comforting her because Miles knew he just could not do that right now. He was having a tough enough time with himself. He's started drinking with the hope that he would blackout for awhile but instead, the alcohol was making his memories and feelings more vivid. He was just reminiscing about his and Bass's time together in the Marines when he noticed Charlie walk up to his table cautiously.

"Hey," she said softly, looking at her uncle with pity. Miles didn't answer and Charlie laid her hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze as she said, "I'm around, k?" She had taken Bass's words to heart; she would watch out for Miles and do her best to make sure he made it through this. Try and protect him like he'd always protected her.

Miles again felt tears in his eyes at Charlie's words. He grabbed her hand as she started to walk away, not able to speak but wanting someone close. He wished he could tell her everything that was running through his mind but...what good would that do? The one person it would've made a difference to was dead. He squeezed Charlie's hand then loosened her grip, allowing her to walk back to her seat beside Aaron at the bar. Miles was angry at himself. Now that he knew it was too late, there were a thousand things he wanted to say to Bass. Like, sorry I left. Sorry I let you down when you needed me the most. He shook his head in disgust. He couldn't even manage to show Bass how much he cared about him when he'd been with his brother three hours before the execution. Another thought entered his mind; Bass was completely alone during his death. Miles cursed himself; because of his cowardice, he'd allowed his brother to be surrounded by strangers that hated him while he took his last breaths. He should've gone, at least let Bass see him there even if they didn't allow him to be at Bass's side. Miles felt the tears run down his face and he dropped his head into his arm. He knew how badly he screwed up. He also knew that he'd lost every chance he'd been given to make it right.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Unbeknownst to the others, Rachel had followed the wagon carrying Bass's coffin into the woods and watched from concealment as they buried him. Once she was absolutely sure no one would come back, she hurried out with a shovel, staring at the new mound of dirt in front of her. With the full moon shimmering in the sky casting a soft light, Rachel gave a sigh and dug her shovel into the fresh soil.


	3. The Patriot Act

Author's Note: I did change a few minor details in this chapter from the actual episode as well as filled in blank spots. Hope you like it!

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Bass awoke completely dazed; the first thing he noticed was numbness throughout his entire body. The next thing that occurred to him was that he could not see. That was actually more terrifying than the lack of feeling and the soft scraping noise that came from above him. He spasmed as the scraping got louder, trying in vain to direct his body movements, finally registering the dirt that was falling onto his arms and face. The drugs were still very much in his system though so all he managed was twitching his fingers. He didn't understand what was happening and the loud crack directly above his head sent him into a panic, blue eyes darting wildly around as he tried to make sense of what was going on. Rachel's face appeared above him, not at all helping to calm his nerves.

Rachel found Monroe already awake by the time she pried the lid off the coffin. She crouched above him, breathing deeply from the exertion of digging up the grave. She quickly looked him over and shook her head at the confusion and touch of panic in Monroe's eyes, "Don't try to move." She hauled him out and unceremoniously dumped him on the ground beside the grave, immediately setting to work filling it in again. She doubted anyone would be out this way but just the same she wanted to get Monroe moved before sunup. She was finished fairly quickly and walked over to Monroe who had fallen asleep yet again on the cold ground. Rachel frowned and nudged him with her shoe, waiting until he was blinking blearily at her before she bent down and pulled him up. She shoved the shovel into his hand as he swayed, figuring he could use it as a cane and help her get him to the abandoned farmhouse she picked for his hiding spot. She wrapped an arm around Monroe and kept one of his arms over her shoulders. She clenched her teeth as they began the slow journey, reminding herself that if this got Charlie to even speak to her again, it was completely worth it.

Finally, Rachel and Monroe arrived at the farmhouse, Monroe regaining the mostly efficient use of his legs about halfway there. Rachel shoved the door open and helped Monroe up the stairs and into the bedroom that she had already prepared, letting him fall onto the bed. She hesitated, then grabbed a blanket and draped it over him. If she wanted Charlie to see she was sincerely sorry for what she had done, Rachel needed to make sure Monroe was alive _and _taken care of. A quick glance told her the man was already asleep again. Rachel did not want to watch over him anymore than she had to so, even though she was exhausted, she decided the best course of action was to get Miles out here as soon as possible...which meant reaching him before he drank himself into a coma.

Rachel arrived back in town and, after a quick word with Aaron, walked into the bar where Miles and Charlie were still residing. Miles had apparently stopped drinking and was just gazing listlessly at the table, apparently lost in thought. Charlie was simply sitting at the bar, keeping an eye on her uncle in her peripheral view. They both looked up at Rachel as she stopped in the middle of the room.

"I need you both to come with me," realizing they were both probably furious at her, she elaborated, "I have something to show you but it's outside of town and we need to get there without Patriot attention."

Charlie just raised her eyebrows at her mother and Miles scowled, "Rachel, I told you. I'm done fighting."

Rachel gave a sigh and walked over to Charlie. "I know you're angry at me but this is important, Charlie. Make sure he's ready to leave town a half hour before dawn," she told Charlie in a low voice.

It was Charlie's turn to scowl, "What makes you think you have any right to order us around?"

Rachel hesitated and then replied, "You're right. But this will help him. I promise."

Charlie hesitated but she shot her uncle another worried glance and nodded, turning away from Rachel.

Rachel looked sadly between her daughter and Miles before leaving the bar, going to her house to catch some sleep before it was time to leave again.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

The sun was just rising as Miles and Charlie followed Rachel out of town. The villagers were still celebrating the execution and the Patriots' hands were full trying to maintain the rowdy crowd so the three were able to slip out easily. It was an uncomfortable trip; Miles and Charlie staying in sullen silence until they reached the house. Rachel took them in but hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, "I brought you here because I had to tell you...Monroe is not dead."

Miles looked at her in disbelief at first but almost immediately it switched to anger, "What the hell are you trying to pull, Rachel?"

Charlie broke in, "Why'd you really bring us here?"

Rachel nodded, "You don't believe me. Go check. First room on the right."

Miles frowned but headed up the stairs. Charlie gave her mother a long look and followed him. Miles stopped right outside the door, hand hovering over the handle. He glanced at Charlie and when she gave him an encouraging nod, he set his jaw and opened the door. His jaw dropped at the sight of his best friend asleep on the bed. He heard Charlie's sharp intake of breath but stayed focused on Bass. He crept in until he was right next to the bed. When he saw the gentle rise and fall of Bass's chest, he let out a breath that came out as a choking sound. Rachel and Charlie were standing behind him but he paid no attention. "Bass," he said sharply, the name sounding almost like a question. The effect was immediate; his friend jerked his head toward Miles' voice though his eyes remained shut.

At the sound of Miles calling his name, Bass was pulled from his sleep. He forced his eyes halfway open, trying desperately to find the source of the reassuring voice and hoping it wasn't another one of his tortured dreams. Everything was blurry and he blinked, trying to make the room come into focus.

"Hey, look at me," Miles ordered, concern making his voice harsher than he intended.

Bass's tired gaze finally landed on Miles and he stared at him for a moment, mind slowly registering the concern emanating from his friend. Bass's own eyes lit up and he forced himself to speak, wanting to erase Miles' worries. "Hey, buddy," he whispered, a small smile crossing his face as Miles relaxed. He heard Charlie and Rachel speaking in the background but he let his gaze wander around the room, trying to remember what all happened. He felt safe since Miles was by his side.

"How you feeling?" Miles asked him, trying to mask his relief, "Can you walk?"

Bass looked up at him, a goofy smile on his face, "Look at you. You're happy to see me." The drugs had gone from numbing his body to simply removing the filter between his brain and his mouth. He honestly couldn't tell the difference between what he was thinking and what he was saying out loud.

Miles tried to keep the smirk off his face and shook his head, "What?"

"You missed me," Bass stated matter-of-factly, "You're my best friend." He grinned at Miles, the drugs and the escape from death making him almost euphoric.

Charlie smiled at that and looked at Miles, waiting for his reaction and hoping he would take the chance to mend his friendship. After all, she realized she'd forgiven Bass when she heard the bell tolling his death.

Miles couldn't stop the small laugh that escaped or the happiness that sparkled in his eyes at Bass's honest proclamation. He'd just began wondering if their relationship was forever damaged because of his confession in Bass's cell but apparently his brother's trust and loyalty were still as strong as ever. "Okay," he said, "Thats-..that's enough." He started to turn away, not ready to have a heart-to-heart just yet but Bass's suddenly insecure voice saying his name stopped him. Concerned, he turned back and sent Bass a questioning look.

"You have to tell me," Bass whispered, eyes wide and voice low enough that only Miles could hear him.

Miles crouched next to the bed, leaning closer to Bass, "Tell you what?"

"You have to tell me where my son is," Bass replied softly. It was worded as an order but it sounded like a request.

Miles' eyes darkened for an instant before he glanced away, "One thing at a time." He laid his hand on Bass's shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze before he stood up and turned to Rachel, "How long until he's a hundred percent?"

Rachel shrugged, "Couple days."

Miles turned back to Bass as Charlie and her mom talked, not surprised to find Bass already looking at him. He winked at his friend and dropped into the chair next to his bed, lightly shoving Bass's legs over and propping his feet up on the side.

Getting the message that Miles meant to stay with him, Bass smiled and finally let his eyes drift closed again.

Charlie and Rachel had gone back downstairs and Miles was still keeping watch over Bass when a distant sound like thunder had him jumping up. He looked out the window and saw a dark cloud of smoke rising from the middle of Willoughby. He turned around just as the two women burst into the room.

Their entrance jolted Bass back to consciousness and his eyes darted around the room, searching for Miles. He relaxed when he located him but then he too caught sight of the smoke.

Miles knew he needed to go with Charlie and Rachel to find out what happened in town but he wasn't at all sure about leaving Bass here alone. He tilted his head at his friend and Bass immediately nodded to him, silently telling him to go. Miles raised an eyebrow, _you sure?_

Bass rolled his eyes, _don't worry._

After threatening Bass with bodily harm if he didn't stay in bed and get better, Miles left with Charlie and Rachel. As soon as they were gone, Bass kicked off his blanket and tried to sit up. A lot easier said than done but he knew that explosion didn't signal anything good and he wasn't going to lay around in bed while his brother faced whatever it was by himself. Fifteen minutes later, he'd managed to move into a sitting position off the side of the bed. He groaned as a wave of dizziness swept over him, his body protesting the use of energy so soon after the large intake of tranquilizers. All this from sitting up and he hadn't even tried to get dressed yet.

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Miles knew that, despite Aaron's own concerns, the guy would be safe with Bass, as would Cynthia. Weak as he was, Miles believed that Bass was still equal to himself in fighting skill and he would protect the two civilians because Miles would ask him to. However, the Patriots had locked down the town so delivering the news of Bass's new roommates in person wasn't going to happen. He was suddenly thankful they'd developed their own code during the Militia days. It was an offshoot of Morse code but they'd created their own meanings so it would be more difficult for outsiders to decipher and best of all, it only took mirrors and a light source to make it work.

Over two hours had passed since the others had left and Bass was finally dressed and lacing his boots up. A flashing light on the wall caught his eye and he stared for a moment before looking to the window. He moved the curtains aside and looked towards the town. When he saw the glinting, he knew right away it was Miles. He waited and sure enough the first message came through. It was a short one and Bass answered out loud, "No, Miles. I'm not alright. I'm hungry." The glinting resumed and this time Bass grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, writing down letters until the glinting stopped. When he read what he'd written, he sighed wearily, "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."

~~MM~~MM~~MM~~MM~~

Bass was making his way through the underbrush to the sewer location Miles had told him about. Aaron and his girlfriend should be almost out and Bass wanted to grab them and go as quickly as possible. Although he was feeling a lot better, his muscles were extremely sore and he was still alternating between dizziness and nauseousness. The last thing he needed was to start puking and draw the attention of every Patriot in the area. He reached the sewer in time to see two Patriots with guns trained on the people he was supposed to protect. Before they could give another order, Bass rushed them. He made quick work of the first as he slashed with his machete. He used the dead man's body to block a shot from the second Patriot before stabbing him as well. The two men were down in less than ten seconds. Bass pointed his machete at the Patriots, making sure they were dead before turning to face Aaron and Cynthia. Unfortunately, just as quickly as it had shot through him, the adrenaline disappeared from Bass's system. He swayed on his feet, forgetting to sheath his machete. He barely registered the terrified looks he was getting. All of a sudden, the fierceness drained from his eyes and he blinked and let out a deep breath, "I uh...I think I need to...sit down...just for a moment..." Always polite, even when he felt like he was on Death's doorstep...again. He bent down, hands on his knees as he felt the blood rush to his head. Rifle rounds spraying the ground around him cut his rest short, forcing him to sprint to the nearest stand of trees.

Bass had been watching despondently as the Patriots had surrounded Aaron, trying to figure out how he was going to explain this to Miles without getting a lecture when, right before his eyes, every single Patriot burst into flames. Just...lit up like matches. His jaw dropped and he couldn't do much more than stare at the marvel before him. Still clutching his machete, he cautiously eased into the clearing again. He could see Aaron and Cynthia apparently unharmed in the middle of the burning bodies. That pretty much confirmed for Bass that somehow Aaron was the one doing this. He didn't know how yet, nor did he really care right that moment. This was definitely going to draw attention and he wanted to be far away when it did. He hauled Aaron up and urged Cynthia to her feet as well, forcing them in front of him as they all ran into the trees. Once they were well in cover, Bass took the lead, alertly picking his way through the woods and trying to stay on deer paths to cover their trail as much as possible. Finally, when he was sure they were far enough away that they wouldn't be easily tracked, he dropped into a walk and glanced back. "Aaron, you have got to tell me how you do that," he said, sarcasm tinting his words. As expected, Aaron didn't reply to him but instead talked to Cynthia, his tone condescending as it was directed at Bass.

"It's okay, you don't have to be afraid of him."

Bass snorted but didn't even look back. Some thanks for risking his neck to try and get them out of trouble. Sure, Aaron had taken out those other Patriots but from the looks of it, he didn't know how he was controlling those fireflies which meant he probably wasn't capable of bailing himself out of every fight. He should consider that before mouthing off to the guy assigned to protect him and his little girlfriend. There was silence from the woman and Bass heard the pain in Aaron's voice as he realized she was actually afraid of _him_, not the formal general of the Monroe Militia. Bass rolled his eyes; Miles had better meet them at the house soon because the last thing Bass wants to be a part of is a domestic dispute between two people that, honestly, already annoyed the living hell out of him.


End file.
